


The Open Window Job

by lionoftarth



Category: Leverage
Genre: Getting Together, Multi, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29619291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionoftarth/pseuds/lionoftarth
Summary: Post series, Haridson/Parker/Eliot talk about their feelings after a near miss on the job.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	1. Pretzels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parker and Hardison make a discovery.

The last job had been a rough one. A close one. The kind of job that cost something more than money. For the first time in a long time, someone had pointed a gun at Eliot's head and pulled the trigger. And in the small eternity before Hardison had realized that the safety was on and Eliot was fine, he'd felt like he was in freefall. Even afterward, he wasn't sure if his feet were back on the ground.

But Eliot was still alive and well. Not even hurt. Not even phased. Mostly annoyed that Hardison had mentioned it at all. So he tried not to dwell on it. 

Taking advantage of the down time, he threw himself into his favorite hobbies. He'd spent that morning gaming and catching up with his online buddies and the afternoon with Parker watching a baking show that Eliot had recommended. It was nice. Cozy. In fact, he had almost completely forgotten the job when Parker blurted, “I don’t want to break up.”

Hardison’s eyes drifted toward her. "Okay." He realized that he hadn't seen her smile all afternoon. “What's up?”

She stared at him before replying. “I...I think I’m having feelings," she admitted uncomfortably. " _Pretzel_ -y feelings." His stomach stank at the implications. "For somebody else. But I don’t feel any differently about _you_." she hurried on before he could say anything. "I just...I feel it for both of you. And it’s...it's different, but it’s the same, you know?” She met his eyes imploringly.

Hardison felt his heartbeat increase. “Yeah,” he said softly, shifting to fully face her.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just...did,” she continued miserably, looking off to the side. “Is that wrong?” 

Hardison shook his head, instinctively taking her hand despite the knot in his gut. "Nah, babe. Feelings...they can't be _wrong_. They just...are. You can't help that.”

She let out a sigh of relief. “Okay. That...That's good because Sophie...”

“You talked to _Sophie_ about this?” he interrupted. 

“Yeah, Hardison. You have a personal problem, you talk to Sophie. That’s what you do," she explained. "And I was worried that I'd screwed something up, and that we'd... we'd have to break up, and I don’t want that.”

“Well, neither do I,” he reiterated. 

She searched him for a lie. “So you don’t...you don’t hate me?”

He gave her a small smile and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Girl, I could never hate you.” Her tension started to ebb. “And honestly? I’d be an awful hypocrite if I did.”

“You would?" she asked, a little confused.

“Yeah,” he agreed lightly, not yet ready for that conversation. “So, who, uh...who is it?" he tried and failed to ask casually. "This person you're feeling pretzely about.” 

“You really want to know?” she asked, looking away. “I mean, does it matter?”

Again, he could feel his heart in his chest. “It's okay, Parker.” He squeezed her hand. "You can tell me.”

She glanced down at their hands and tightened her grip. “It’s Eliot.” 

He nearly collapsed in relief. “Oh, thank God.” 

She watched him bemusedly and raised her brows in question. 

He gave her an easy smile. “We’re even more in sync than we knew, girl.” 

She tilted her head to the side, letting a tentative grin develop. “You too?” she surmised.

Hardison nodded, feeling almost giddy. “I mean I tried to fight it, but...”

“Me too,” she assured him. 

“The man is fine, you know what I’m saying?”

“I do!” she agreed, actually smiling now. They kissed in relief, grinning at each other. “So...what now?” Parker asked excitedly as she pulled back. “Do we tell him?”

He leaned away. “Girl, are you out of your mind? That man would beat my _ass_ if he knew I was checking him out.”

The grin slid from Parker’s face. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“Parker...” He went back to choosing his words with care. “You’re right. He wouldn’t hurt me, okay, but he also...” He had too many things to say and too few ways to say them. “You know Eliot. Does he strike you as the kind of guy who would be open to this?” He pointed between them.

Parker looked at him in disbelief. “Is that the kind of thing I should just know?”

He shook his head and switched tactics. “Look, what are you hoping for here?”

“This,” she pointed between the two of them as he had, “but with him too. Isn't that what _you_ want?”

He sighed, picturing Eliot just on the other side of Parker passionately explaining the stupid program they'd been watching. "Yeah, it is, but...how do I put this?” Hardison ran a hand over his face until it came to him. “You and I...we want a traditional pretzel. A single piece woven into three equally delicious loops of salty snack, right?” He pantomimed the shape as she nodded. “But Eliot...I'm pretty sure Eliot wants a pretzel stick." He held up his finger. "You know, the straight kind.”

"...Right," she said unsurely. 

He shook his head slightly and explained, "I'm saying the man is straight, Parker. Like... _aggressively_ straight."

Parker shook her head. “You don’t know that.”

He sputtered, trying to get her to see sense. Trying to get her to see the disaster ahead of them. “Okay. Let’s ignore the _everything_ about him that screams differently and imagine he has feelings for both of us...I don’t think he would ever want to admit it. And what’s more, I don’t think we can ask him to.” He sat up from the couch, taking both her hands again. “Look at us, babe. We took our time getting here, but it was the right thing to do. I mean, what would have happened if we had rushed this?”

“I might have stabbed you,” she admitted.

“Really? You’d go straight to the stabbing?” Parker gave him an apologetic nod. Why was he attracted to so many violent people? “Okay. Alright. The point is that if Eliot’s not ready, we could ruin what we already have. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to risk that.”

“Fine,” Parker huffed. “We'll wait.” She flopped back onto the couch cushions to watch the show. 

He surveyed her, tempted to let it go. “It might not be a matter of waiting," he tested, circling back around to his original point.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking up from her slouch. "You don't think he likes us?"

"It's not you, I'm worried about." He felt pretty confident that Eliot had a thing for Parker. In fact, he had a hard time imagining anyone _wouldn't_ have a thing for Parker. "But if he doesn't see _me_ that way...Look, you said you didn’t want to break up, and I’m not comfortable with you dating us both separately. You haven’t really seen that side of me, but it would be nasty, girl. I’m talking ugly crying with a tub of Chunky Monkey watching the third season of Farscape in a bathrobe kind of nasty." Parker tilted her head in concern. "Not that I've done that. That was...it was hypothetical.” 

“That’s not what I want.”

“It's not what _anybody_ wants,” he agreed. “I just...I don't want to spend my life pining for something that's about as likely as...as Betelgeuse going supernova." 

She sat up, taking in his point. "Okay. But...didn't you say there's a chance that its already gone supernova, and we just haven't seen it yet?" He nodded, the knowledge catching him off guard. "Then maybe the same thing is happening here." He continued to stare. "What? I listen to you. Sometimes."

He gave her a small smile. "You're right, and you're hot," he kissed her cheek before pulling away. "But the odds still aren't looking good, babe.”

Foiled, Parker scrunched her face in frustration. “So what? You’re saying we never do anything? We just let him think that...that he’s _alone_.”

“Hey!" He squeezed her hands again. "He’s not alone, okay? He knows that.”

“ _Does_ he?” Parker asked emotionally. “Because I thought I knew that. I really did. But then we happened, and...and it’s different." Her face begged him to understand. "I don’t want him to be on the outside looking in, Alec. I want him to be inside...with us.”

He could tell that it was important to her. That this feeling was probably what prompted the entire conversation. “Parker, if it were just up to me he would be, but _he_ has to want it.”

"So we _ask_ him!" Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

"Parker," he said, at a loss.

She crossed her arms stubbornly. "We almost lost him, Hardison, and he doesn't _know_!"

Her words felt like a punch to the gut, unlocking all those feelings he'd been trying to ignore. She wasn't going to let this go. Not easily. Not anytime soon. And honestly, he wasn't sure he could either. “Okay. Hear me out." He took a breath to steady himself. "What if...what if we can scope him out? Drop some hints? You know, get an idea if he’s interested before we dive head first into this thing and break our damn necks?” 

She watched him for a moment, calculating. "You mean do recon. Like a job."

"Yeah," he agreed unenthusiastically. "Like a job where we're emotionally compromised, can't con him, and have to respect his privacy."

She frowned. "Harder."

"Much," he agreed. 

She looked up at him, biting her lip. "I still think we should just tell him," she noted, "but we can try it your way first." 

He felt his entire body relax at her acknowledgement. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple. "Thank you." 

They sat like that for all of a minute before she added, "I know what our first hint should be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context:
> 
> I have no textual proof that Hardison watches Farscape, but I think he'd like it based purely on his comment about the Yoda puppet. And the third season of that show contains some of the most fucked up, zaniest, and saddest episodes of the series (which is saying something). 
> 
> I'm realizing that I've never written a fellow nerd before, and it makes me love Hardison even more.


	2. Groundwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parker and Hardison enact a plan.

Eliot threw a punch.

The bag swayed at the impact, but it didn't give him the peace of mind he was looking for. Nothing seemed to. Not since the last job. Not since Parker and Hardison had launched themselves at him, hugging him like they would never let go. Days later, it still felt like they hadn't. 

It wasn't like he'd been unaware of his feelings before. He had known what they were. He had known what they meant. But he'd had them on lockdown, never to be fully acknowledged even to himself. And it had been working well. But that last hug from both of them...It had done something to him. Something he didn’t like. Something he couldn’t get out of his head. Something stupid. He slammed his fist into the bag again.

It was a reminder of what he couldn't have. A reminder he didn’t need. Parker and Hardison were good. They were settled. At least in their own way. And they deserved each other. Deserved that happiness. Whenever he needed something to steady him, to remind that there was good in this world, he looked to them. And he didn't need to complicate that. He _needed_ to get this back under control. He _needed_ to beat the shit out of something.

“Eliot!” The call came from a safe distance, and he realized he’d been mindlessly pounding the bag. “You okay, man?” Hardison. Of course, it was Hardison.

“Yeah.” His hands started to hurt as the feeling came back to them. “Yeah, I just got a little caught up.”

The way Hardison’s eyes ran over him made his fingers inch. “You were hitting that thing pretty hard.” 

“Pretending it was you,” he smirked, turning to face him. “What are doing down here anyway?”

Hardison gave him a friendly smile. “I came to get you." 

Eliot's eyebrows rose. "You did?" He didn't bother asking how the hacker knew where to find him.

"Yeah," Hardison nodded. "Parker and I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” He brought his glove up to his mouth, stripping it off with his teeth as Hardison watched. Reminding himself to stop flexing, Eliot spit out the first glove and removed the second more sedately. “What for?” he asked suspiciously.

“We just felt like...like doing something, you know,” Hardison offered casually. 

Oh, he knew alright. "Damn it, Hardison! I _had_ it under control!"

"Okay, first off, this has nothing to do with that. Second, what you _had_ was a gun in your face," Hardison claimed, picking up the argument where they had left off.

"Charging is a strategy, Hardison. I don't just do it for fun. It creates time-pressure and panic. It makes people _more_ likely to miss."

"There was no 'missing,' Eliot. I _saw_ him pull the trigger!"

"With the safety on!"

"Because you got lu-cky!" he emphasized, throwing up his hands. "Why are we still fighting about this, man?"

"Because you're doing something for me when you _don't need to_ ," Eliot glared. 

"I don't _need_ a reason to do something nice. I'm a nice, damn person. I can't even count the number of little old ladies I've helped across the street, over puddles, all that stuff."

"It's _women_ you help over puddles, man."

"Why would I do that? I mean, have you _met_ Parker?"

"I don't know, man. I'm not the one claiming to have done it!"

Hardison took a step back, rubbing his face. "Look, this has...we had this whole thing planned before we even started that job, I swear. "

Eliot surveyed him for a moment before pointing a finger at him. "You swear on your Nana?" he challenged. Hardison opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. "That's what I thought," he accused.

____

"Hold on, man, I'm thinking."

____

"It's a yes or no question, Hardison."

"Jesus, Eliot. Are you going to let us show you some damn appreciation or do you want more 'alone time' with James?" 

He hated it when he didn't know what Hardison was talking about. "James?"

"The punching bag, Eliot. _Obviously,_ the punching bag."

"You don't just name another man's bag, Hardison!"

"Really? Even if I named it after Sterling?" Hardison challenged. 

Suddenly, Eliot was fighting off a smile, remembering the beating he'd just given it. "Sterling?" 

"Yeah, I knew you'd like that. Now, you want to complain some more or you gonna come upstairs?" 

"Do I have a choice?" He asked grumpily.

Hardison made sure to catch his gaze again before replying. "Yeah, you do."

The sincerity caught him off guard, but it would set a bad precedent to give in that easily. He narrowed his eyes a little. "What's the surprise?" Knowing the two of them it could be anything from a half-eaten box of chocolates or a robotic sparring partner.

“You'll see," Hardison teased. "Just come upstairs when you’re less..." he indicated Eliot's entire being, "...like that. Alright?”

Eliot glancing down at his sweat-drenched clothes, noting the way they clung to him before meeting Harison's gaze for a moment too long. He was getting worse at this. “Okay.” 

Hardison turned away, waving a hand in front of his nose obnoxiously. “And some deodorant wouldn’t hurt.” 

“This is what men smell like, Hardison,” he insisted grouchily. 

____

“Whatever you tell yourself, man,” He called over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

____

Eliot sniffed at his armpit and wrinkled his nose, hating to admit that Hardison might have a point. 

***

Fifteen minutes later, he showed up at their door freshly showered and smelling faintly of cologne. 

____

“Finally,” Parker greeted him, smiling as she squeezed a lemon. "It's almost done." He nearly froze in shock at the dishes laid out on the table. A dinner for three. A home-cooked dinner for three.

They’d even chosen the right wine, which Hardison was pouring into glasses. "You did all this?” She nodded. “I’m impressed.” Parker beamed at the words, moving over to the stove. 

Hardison set down the bottle. “You’ve cooked for us, we’re just returning the favor.”

“So it's quid pro quo,” Eliot reasoned, still trying to make sense of the gesture. 

“And we wanted to do something nice for you,” Parker corrected, but it didn't annoy him as much coming from her. Probably because he knew 'nice' was a concept she was still working on. “Try this.” She shoved a spoon full of sauce in his mouth.

He quickly reared back, splitting it out onto the floor before it could burn him. "Hot."

“Oops." Parker's mouth pulled to the side. "Sorry.” 

"Babe," Hardison chastised, handing Eliot of towel before he could even move. “She did the same thing to me earlier.”

"I thought it had cooled," she protested, looking down at the offending liquid. "It's like devil sauce."

Eliot grumbled, wiping some of it off his previously unstained shirt. After taking care of the spill, he took the spoon from her hand and blew on it before trying it again. 

Parker watched with rapt attention. “So?”

“It’s good,” he admited. 

____

Her lips twitched. “What’s wrong?”

____

“It’s not _wrong_ , Parker, it’s good.”

____

“ _But_?” she prompted, staring him down.

____

“Little too much salt." 

____

“Told you,” Hardison cooed from the other side of the table. 

____

"You said to add more sugar,” she accused, and Eliot made a face at the thought. “Yeah. See?”

____

“I see y'all don’t appreciate my genius.” He handed Eliot a glass of wine. “Take a seat, man. Take a seat. We’re almost ready.” Hardison put a hand on his shoulder and guided him into a chair.

____

“Anything I can help with?”

____

“Nah. Just sit back and enjoy,” Hardison instructed, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze. 

____

Eliot shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to run a hand through his hair before remembering it was still wet. He watched the couple as they placed the final dishes on the table. They seemed just as tense. Their movements choppy. If he didn’t know better he would think they were nervous. “I feel like you guys are trying to tell me something,” he half-joked.

____

Hardison’s gaze snapped up to his. “What makes you say that?”

____

“Well, for one, this glass isn’t full of orange soda.” A terrible thought suddenly occurred to him. “Y...You're not leaving, are you?” He watched their reactions closely.

____

They shook their heads. “No, man. We’re not going anywhere,” Hardison replied firmly. 

“And not without you,” Parker added, bringing his attention back to her as she seated herself at the table. An honest response. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a goodbye speech. Armed with that knowledge, Eliot let himself enjoy the wine a little more. 

Without further preamble, Parker started shoveling things onto her plate so Eliot and Hardison followed suit. It was a good dinner. A good time. But then, with them, it was always a good time. Honestly, even their arguments were kind of fun. They kept him on his toes and off his guard. Like his brain had been hacked, stolen. 

After the food was gone and he’d finished his third glass of wine, he pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Parker asked, trying to peak at his screen.

“I'm calling a car. Wine went to my head.”

“You should stay here,” she suggested.

“Parker,” he heard Hardison warn softly. 

It caught his attention. He looked up at the two of them, one then the other. The wine had dulled everything. Made him stupidly vulnerable to attack, but the apartment was safe and warm, and the couch was comfortable. “Would you mind?”

“No,” Parker answered, shooting Hardison a glance. “We like having you here.”

Hardison nodded in agreement, standing to clear the final dishes from the table. “Parker, give me a hand.”

“Nah. Nah,” Eliot objected. “You all did the cooking. Let me do the dishes. It’s the least I can do.”

Hardison shook his head. “You don't have to do anything, man. That's kind of the point."

"I thought the point was to do something nice," he threw back. "And I don't like sitting around watching other people work."

"Fine," Hardison gave up. "You want to wash or dry?”

Eliot stood up from the table, a little unsteady on his feet. “I prefer to wash if I can. It's the only way to make sure it's done right." 

“There's a wrong way?” Hardison asked, pulling some rags from a drawer.

Eliot glanced at him very seriously. “Yes.”

“I want to steal a dishwasher,” Parker declared, sliding up beside Hardison at the sink. Eliot tried not to notice the comfortable way they slotted into place. "But Hardison said no."

"For the last time, I didn’t say no. I said we had no _room_.” He tried to gather support. “Eliot, help me out. You see a place for a dishwasher?”

Eliot shrugged, turning off the water as the sink filled. “Depends on your fittings and how much you like your cabinets.”

“See, Parker? It’s not a microwave. We can’t just buy it and plug it in. It would be a construction project. We’d have people all up in here.” 

“I could do it.” The words were out of Eliot's mouth before he could think better of them. “I...if you want. I mean, I could take a look.” He started scrubbing a dish a little harder than was necessary so he didn't have to face them.

“Seriously?” Hardison echoed. “Cause we got 99 problems, and that dishwasher could solve like 98 of them.”

“Yeah. I grew up in a hardware store, remember? I know some things.”

Parker suddenly hugged him around the middle, plastering herself to his back, not unlike she'd done a few days before. He almost dropped a plate. “Thanks.”

“Get off of me, would you,” he growled softly, trying not to react.

Hardison gently detached her. “Come one, Eliot’s washing, I’m drying, you can put them away.”

Parker grinned. "If we were always like this, we wouldn't need the dishwasher." Hardison pulled her close and whispered something in her ear that made her nose wrinkle, and Eliot turned back to the dishes.

Since Eliot was staying, they put on The Great British Bakeoff after everything was put away. They had started the show on the couch with a few inches of space between them, but they had finished it with Parker's head on Eliot's shoulder and her legs splayed over Hardison.

Eliot raised an eyebrow.

"She doesn't normally have wine," Hardison explained, shaking her awake. 

Parker sat up on the couch and glanced over at Eliot. There was a patch of drool on his sleeve. "Sorry," she yawned, trying to wipe it off.

He shrugged away. "S'okay." He knew he should be more aggravated, but between the company and the last remnants of the wine he couldn't find it in him. 

"Do you need any pillows or blankets or anything?" Hardison asked, stretching. "Some PJs, maybe?"

Eliot shook his head, glancing between them. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks though. And thanks for dinner. It was good. It was...I appreciate it."

They nodded at him and parted for bed.

It wasn’t until a little later that he overheard them talking. He was on his way to the bathroom, which took him past their bedroom door. It was only opened a few inches, but it was enough that he could hear them whispering. His name caught his attention.

“You’re being too obvious,” Hardison chastised softly.

“I’m not. If anything, I need to be _more_ obvious.”

“How?” Hardison asked incredulously. “You want to proposition him at breakfast?”

“Not on the first date,” Parker said without a trace of humor.

“Babe, I’m pretty sure that's Eliot’s date of choice." Eliot had to stop himself from growling. 

“Not with emotional intimacy," Parker corrected, in planning mode. "He's good at creating distance, and we scare him. We have to find a way to break through that."

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. I didn't agree to _break_ anything. I agreed to leave the window open, put some milk on the counter, that kind of thing."

"He's too smart for that. He'll see it and run."

"Should I be worried about where this is going?" 

"No," she chuckled, "it's not like we're going to _kidnap_ him."

"Now see, I wasn't even thinking that." 

"We're going to go fishing."

There was a brief pause. " _Metaphorically_ , I hope."

"Nope."

"Is it too late to revisit kidnapping?" he asked. 

"It won't be so bad."

"Oh, _won't_ it? If I volunteer to go fishing, I might as well tell him I want in his pants because there's _no_ other explanation."

"Exactly."

"Parker," Hardison groaned, “you're killing me, babe. Look, I've got to go to the bathroom, but when I get back we're talking about this fishing thing. Specifically, me not doing it.” The bed creaked.

Realizing their relative positions, Eliot disappeared down the hall back towards the living room. He moved quickly enough that he could rounded the corner as Hardison make it to the door. Leaning back against the wall, he heard only the faint creak of hinges and the pounding of blood in his ears. 

Fuck.

He realized he couldn’t stay here any longer. Not with them. Not when they both….

He'd stopped drinking at dinner, and the wine had worn off afterwards. He pocketed his phone, grabbed his keys, and left the apartment as quietly as he could.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And extra thanks for comments and kudos!!


End file.
